


a rhythm that rattled us down to the bone

by aletterinthenameofsanity



Series: even if it costs my life (I won't stop loving you) [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Afterlife, Age Difference, Amnesia, Character Study, F/M, Introspection, Murder, Post-Canon, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 02:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletterinthenameofsanity/pseuds/aletterinthenameofsanity
Summary: Hector died at 21, a little over a year into his ‘tour’ with Ernesto. Imelda died in her 70s, after five decades of hating her husband, thinking him a deadbeat, a cheat, and a sellout. He had given the songs he wrote personally for her, for Coco, for just their family, to Ernesto to play for the world. She’d gotten a letter from Ernesto labelling Hector a cheat, that her husband had run off with some floozy.Imelda's first year in the Land of the Dead, Hector had shown up at her doorstep. She’d turned him away before he could get past “Por favor, Imelda-”, thrown a boot at his head and spat threats at him if he ever dared show his face at the Riveras’ doorstep again. He’d turned and ran.(She’d never realized how young he was, how there wasn't a single gray hair on his head. She’d never noticed the way that even then, his bones were turning yellowed and brittle as more and more of his family died and forgot him.)





	a rhythm that rattled us down to the bone

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Proud Corazon" from Coco.
> 
>  
> 
> I have absolutely fallen in love with this movie, as evidenced by the overabundance of Coco-related titles in my written fics and the number of bookmarked fics in the fandom. I cannot do this absolute masterpiece of a movie any justice, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

“Héctor Rivera. Died at age 21, in la Ciudad de Mexico, Mexico. Last words are listed as _I want to see them, por favor_.”

Imelda doesn’t cry. She doesn’t gasp. She just thanks the office worker and heads back to her home, where Héctor is lying unconscious on the guest bed. She shows no sign of distress as she walks.

(Except, perhaps, she does. She doesn’t take Pepita home. She does not take a detour to greet any of her business partners or friends in the market. She just heads out to the Rivera home, taking back streets and alleys to avoid the crowds who want to see the woman who sang at the Sunrise Spectacular, danced with Ernesto de la Cruz, and held the man de la Cruz murdered in her arms.)

Héctor died at 21, a little over a year into his ‘tour’ with Ernesto. Imelda died in her 70s, after five decades of hating her husband, thinking him a deadbeat, a cheat, and a sellout. He had given the songs he wrote personally for her, for Coco, for just _their_ family, to Ernesto to play for the world. She’d gotten a letter from Ernesto labelling Héctor a cheat, that her husband had run off with some floozy.

She became the strength her family needed. She banned the music that had torn her family apart, left her dearest _hija_ without a father. She started a shoemaking business and pulled her brothers into it, made sure that her daughter and grandaughters carry on the tradition of strong Rivera women who don't put up with any damned music.

Her son-in-law and granddaughter died, both of cholera.

And then, a few weeks later, she died, hatred for her long gone husband as strong as the day Ernesto sent her that _maldita_ letter.

Imelda's first year in the Land of the Dead, Héctor had shown up at her doorstep. She’d turned him away before he could get past “ _Por favor, Imelda-_ ”, thrown a boot at his head and spat threats at him if he ever _dared_ show his face at the Riveras’ doorstep again. He’d turned and ran.

(She’d never realized how young he was, how there wasn't a single gray hair on his head. She’d never noticed the way that even then, his bones were turning yellowed and brittle as more and more of his family died and forgot him.)

She still hates him for leaving, but he’d wanted to come home, and Ernesto- that _cabron,_ that _hijo de puta_ \- had murdered him to keep his songs. Héctor has spent the last century trying to get home to Coco. He brought Miguel home, sacrificed himself to get Miguel home in time.

(She’d never even guessed at the possibility that her husband had been murdered, and she kind of hates herself for it.)

Bitter feelings swirl in her gut as she hikes up the steps outside of her house.

Ten decades not on the _ofrenda._ Ten decades of being forgotten, of brittle bones, of a life in Shantytown. Ten decades of watching those he lived with suffering the Final Death and living with the inevitability that someday he would to.

(It is a wonder that he never went insane.)

She nearly destroyed the man she fell in love with, the man she married and swore her life to.

She stops outside of Héctor’s bedroom door, collecting her thoughts, swallowing back the sour taste of guilt.

No, she didn't destroy him. Ernesto de la Cruz did. He murdered Héctor, lied to her, stole their family’s songs, tried to kill Miguelito. He is the _monster_ who did this to Héctor.

And yet- it _is_ her fault, for not listening to Héctor when he came to her doorstep.

She sighs. Gah, she’ll never be able to figure this out right now.

She enters the room and sits down in a chair by Héctor’s side. The Final Death did not take him, but he still hasn't woken up yet. He's been lying in this bed for two days now, his bones slowly, _impossibly_ slowly, mending themselves. She hasn't moved from his side until an hour ago, when a question wouldn't stop nagging at her skull: _when did my husband die?_

Now that she has her answer, she’s still not sure how she feels about him. A century of hatred does not dissolve easily. A single night of revelations- even if those revelations rewrite a century of knowledge- isn’t enough to change her feelings in a single night.

And yet- she wants to get to know him, again. She said she would never be able to forgive him for what he did, but maybe, just maybe, she can learn to.

And then Héctor opens his eyes, and her thoughts halt in their tracks.

“Mela?” he asks groggily, and she remembers the days, so long ago, in which he used to say her name like that, such reverence in his tone. She had been the fiercest woman in the town, and every other man had been intimidated by her boot and her lash of a tongue. Héctor had been the only one brave enough- or _estupido_ enough- to try and serenade her at her window, to sneak into her _Papa_ s garden and climb the trellis to her window to speak to her. Héctor was never the most handsome man- too gangly, face a bit too long, nose a bit too hooked, but he’d always been so sweet, so earnest- and, in her lovestruck youth, so had she.

What has the interceding century done to them? Héctor, the silly, bright musician, and she, the fierce flower of the Alvarez family.

Now, he is weathered and broken down by years of being Forgotten, his bones yellowed and brittle. Some of his bones are being held together by duct tape, his femur split in a way that, if she remembers the night of Dia de Muertos correctly, caused him a permanent limp.

On her end, her broken heart has been made stone by age. Nothing until now has been able to break her resolve to hate her husband.

But last night, she sang- not once, but twice. She let her great-great-grandson return to the land of the living without a promise to stop making music.

The two of them once loved each other, and it seems as if Héctor still does. It seems as if _she_ might still love him, even after all these years.

Where does that leave them?

“ _Descansa, mi querido_ ,” Imelda says softly, and Héctor’s eyes fall shut under her instruction. He slips back into sleep, into a world controlled by dreams.

Imelda sighs and leans back in her chair. Well, there is only one thing that she is completely sure of. When Héctor wakes up: he'll need a new pair of shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to write more for this wonderful movie, do please stay tuned in if you liked this story!


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